


hawaii hottie

by sunsetozier



Series: tumblr prompts [5]
Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: M/M, Slightly implied sexual content, only slightly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-02
Updated: 2018-08-02
Packaged: 2019-06-20 12:07:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15533895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunsetozier/pseuds/sunsetozier
Summary: Letting his eyes flutter shut in order to avoid everyone’s gazes, Richie meekly explains, “I got another letter from Eds, okay? And I know he’s on vacation, doing all these cool things, and I know Hawaii is, like, super sunny and everything, but- guys.Guys.”He stops, unable to force out the words he wants to. From somewhere off to his left, he hears Bill say, “Spit it out, man. What’s the big deal?”“There was a polaroid in this letter,” Richie tells them. He would be embarrassed, but by this point they all know how smitten he is, so there’s no reason to be bashful as he practically whines out, “And he’s getting hotter.”[In which Eddie goes on vacation and Richie can't deal with it.]





	hawaii hottie

**Author's Note:**

> an anon sent me an ask on tumblr requesting:
> 
>  
> 
> _Hi um, sorry if you’re not taking requests but that AU post you shared, could you write the “we grow up as best friends but you got hot over the summer can I touch your biceps” one? Sorry again if you aren’t taking requests ___
> 
> _  
> _and i tried my best to comply!!_  
>  _

            “Guys, Hawaii is cancelled.”

            No one looks up when Richie exclaims this, leaning against the doorway to Bill’s garage and gazing at his friends expectantly. This is decidedly not the reaction he wanted, and hey, this is kind of important – actually, it’s world-altering, if Richie’s being honest, so he needs all attention on him. So, with a little huff, he steps forward, eyeing everyone’s placement on the old couch, the five of them all piled on it in an odd mess of intertwined limbs and soft snores. It’s not their fault that they’re asleep, really, but Richie’s having a fucking crisis, and he kind of needs them to be present when he rants about it. Which is why he feels absolutely no remorse when he clears his throat, shakes out his limbs, and launches himself onto the lop of the loser pile.

            “Jesus fucking _Christ_ , Richie, what the _fuck_ —”

            “Oh, Tozier, you’re such an asshole—!"

            A loud slur of different angry insults fly from the mouths of his friends, and immediately, he feels someone’s elbow dig into his side and force him off of the couch, sending him sprawling, a low groan bubbling from his throat when the back of his head bounces off the cement floor. Peaking over the side of the couch, Beverly glares down at him, her eyes groggy from being so rudely awoken, only to soften when she sees his scrunched up features. “Jesus, are you okay? I could hear the echo in your skull.”

            “You’re hilarious, Marsh,” Richie murmurs, pushing himself up into a sitting position and rubbing the back of his head, wincing at the instead throbbing that forms behind his eyes. He pushes the pain away, though, deciding that a mild concussion is not more important than what he came here to talk about. Scooting back, he watches as the rest of his friends detangle themselves from their napping pile, all of them sending him half-awake glares and grumbling under their breath.

            Beverly grins at him, clambering off the couch completely and approaching the old refrigerator in the corner of the garage and pulls open the door to the freezer, taking out an ice pack and making her way back to the group to plop next to Richie. “It’s a gift,” she tells him, extending her legs out in front of her and patting her thighs expectantly. “Come on, lay down. I’m gonna put the ice on your head, and then you’re gonna tell us what the hell you just woke us up for.”

            “It better be a good reason,” Stan warns through a barely stifled yawn, curling his knees up to his chest and warily watching as Richie does as Beverly instructing, flinching away from the cold surface of the ice pack before resting against it.

            “Oh, it is,” Richie promises. “Is everyone all the way up? Paying close attention? Won’t doze off while I’m talking?”

            Mike snorts. “Yeah, Rich, we’re good. Just tell us.”

            Richie waits a moment, mostly for the sake of creating a dramatic pause to build the anticipation, and then he repeats his earlier statement: “Hawaii is cancelled.”

            A fraction of a second of silence, and then five simultaneous exasperated groans.

            “Are you serious?” Ben asks, rubbing tiredly at his eyes. “You interrupted our nap for that?”

            “Just hear me out, okay?” Richie pleads, and he doesn’t want this to be tense and serious, but this is actually something he needs to talk about, so his voice takes on a shrill kind of desperation that makes everyone shut up and listen. Letting his eyes flutter shut in order to avoid everyone’s gazes, Richie meekly explains, “I got another letter from Eds, okay? And I know he’s on vacation, doing all these cool things, and I know Hawaii is, like, super sunny and everything, but- guys. _Guys_.”

            He stops, unable to force out the words he wants to. From somewhere off to his left, he hears Bill say, “Spit it out, man. What’s the big deal?”

            “There was a polaroid in this letter,” Richie tells them. He would be embarrassed, but by this point they all know how smitten he is, so there’s no reason to be bashful as he practically whines out, “ _And he’s getting hotter_.”

 

 

 

 

            When Richie’s headache subsides enough to let him move around without wanting to crumple in on himself, he pulls the folded over letter out of his back pocket to show the rest of them. “Look,” he says, flattening it out in his lap and picking up the single polaroid picture that had been loose inside the envelope when Richie got it yesterday evening. He holds it up between his thumb and his pointer finger, waving it back and forth a bit just to make sure he has everyone’s attention, and then hands it to Beverly, who’s still sitting besides him even though he doesn’t need her to hold an ice pack to his head anymore. She lets out a low whistle as she examines the picture while Richie holds up the letter and begins to recite what’s written. “Dear Richie, this is my last week before we finally come home, which means this is my last letter until I see you again. You’re annoying as shit, but after spending so much time with just my Aunts, Uncles, and cousins, I have to admit that I miss having you around. Honestly, being at the Quarry with you and the losers beats Hawaii any day. See you on Friday. Love, Eds.”

            “Ooh, did he really write love?” Mike asks, snatching the page out of Richie’s hands and scanning over it. His eyes widen and he leans over to nudge his shoulder against Bill’s, pointing at the words as he exclaims, “Look! Hearts! He dotted the I’s with little hearts! Is that not the cutest shit you’ve ever seen? God, I miss him.”

            “And he wrote Eds,” Bill points out with a devilish grin directed towards Richie, who tries not to make it too obvious when a blush burns it’s way up his neck and over his cheeks. “Y’know, I haven’t heard him complain about being called Eds since we were fifteen. I think he likes it now.”

            Taking the letter back, Richie huffs out, “He’s always liked it, he just liked to pretend he didn’t.”

            “Oh, really?” Beverly questions, handing the picture to Ben, who silently raises his brows and angles it so that Stan can see as well. “And how, exactly, do you know that, Richie?”

            Ignoring the way Stan gasps and leans over to get a closer look at the polaroid, Richie squares his shoulders and answers, “He told me, a few months ago. I don’t think he meant to tell me, ‘cause it was, like, two in the morning and we were both dead tired, but still, he told me.”

            Looking intrigued, Bill takes the picture from Ben’s hands while Mike muses, “So, he told you he likes your dumb nicknames, he wrote ‘Love, Eds’, he dotted all the I’s with hearts, and… hmm. What am I missing, my dearest Beverly?”

            “Why, Mikey my love, you forgot the most important part!” Beverly exclaims, quickly hopping on board for the theatrics as she lets out a dramatic gasp, leaning forward to pull her phone out of her back pocket and wave it in front of Richie, much like Richie had done to her with the polaroid. “You see, we have these handy little devices here called cell phones. With these, we can send text messages, make phone calls, and even video chat, but what is Eddie’s chosen form of communication with Richie, here?” She pauses for dramatic effect, and faintly Richie takes notice to how Mike and Bill are both gaping at the photo, but he chooses not to acknowledge it as Beverly leans into his space, their noses brushing together as she stage-whispers, “Letters.” Then, suddenly, she leans back and throws an arm over Ben’s shoulder, asking, “Tell me, Benny, what do you think that means?”

            “Oh, thank you for asking, Bev,” Ben replies, his eyes bright as he takes the letter from Richie, ignoring Richie’s protests as he examines it closely. “You see, this right here is a god damn relic! A perfect example of young love, if I do say so myself. You never see people sending letters these days, especially not when, like you said, there are so many other ways to communicate—”

            “He didn’t want to spend his whole vacation texting,” Richie quickly defends, reaching for the letter again, only to have Stan reach over and grab him by the wrists, causing him to dramatically sprawl himself on the ground and jut his lower lip out in a childish pout. Stan only snickers and tightens his hold on Richie’s wrists, rendering him stuck. Richie sighs, kicking his legs once before giving up and lulling his head to the side to glare at Ben and Beverly, who look far too pleased for his liking. “He chose to write letters because he didn’t want to be glued to his phone the whole damn time.”

            Despite the fact that Richie is trying to say these things to stop the teasing, all he manages to do is draw out wide grins from everyone else. “Right,” Stan says, nodding down at Richie with a smirk. “Right, yeah, okay. That makes sense. He chose to send you hand written letters and a half-naked polaroid because he knew he wouldn’t be able to stop texting you. Simple logic, really.”

            Richie feels his entire face heat up as the others start burst into loud fits of laughter. “It’s not like he sent me a fucking nude!” Richie cries out – though the idea of that is _definitely_ appealing. “He was swimming when his mom took the picture, alright? He’s in a _swimsuit_. That doesn’t count as half-naked!”

            “Um, yes, it does,” Ben giggles, finally handing the letter back as Stan releases his hold on Richie’s wrist, letting Richie sit up and scooch back to where he had been sitting before. For good measure, Richie takes the polaroid back, too, sparing it a quick glance before folding the paper over it and carefully sliding the items back into his pocket. “But that’s not even the part that matters. What matters is that he saw this picture of himself and he decided, out of everything he could do with it, to send it to you. All jokes aside, Rich, what does that say to you?”

            For a moment, Richie doesn’t respond – doesn’t really know how to. An _all jokes aside_ situation is one he doesn’t know how to thrive in, so he merely sniffs, runs a hand through his hair, and murmurs, “Hopefully, something good.” And if anyone else tries to bring it up again, Richie pretends not to notice.

 

 

 

 

            Friday comes way too soon.

            He sleeps in until noon because he was up all night worrying about how he’s going to act when Eddie gets here, and when he wakes up it’s with another throbbing headache – most likely caused by the lack of sleep, because isn’t irony a wonderful pal? – he has a spam of texts from all of his friends, most of which are in all caps. When he scrolls through them, he sees that Eddie has, apparently, already made it back to Derry, and that he wanted all the losers to meet at the Quarry at ten to spend the day there. Except it’s well past ten now, and Richie clearly isn’t at the Quarry, which is why, according to the most recent text from Beverly, Eddie is currently on his way to Richie’s house to see what’s taking him so long to get his ass out of the house.

            Which is not at all something he’s prepared for, and he thinks, briefly, that he is going to quite simply burst into god damn flames. Or, if he doesn’t spontaneously combust, he’s going to set himself on fire in order to avoid making a fool of himself, like he inevitably will when Eddie gets here—

            “Hey, Richie? You home?”

            Well, shit. Eddie’s already here. Isn’t that just fucking peachy?

            Despite the fact that Richie knows he’s going to be a stammering idiot within seconds, he still can’t help but leap out of bed excitedly, because, okay, yeah, sure, he’s kind of an idiot in love with his best friend, but Eddie’s been gone. For a month. An entire month! Four weeks of nothing but letters (really cute letters, though, that Richie may or may not have safely stored in a shoe box under his bed to look back at whenever he’s feeling down) and a single polaroid (which he also stored safely, though not in the shoe box, no – the polaroid is tucked into the top drawer of his bedside table). Four weeks of not hearing Eddie’s voice, of not seeing Eddie’s face, of not speaking to Eddie face-to-face.

            And finally, after four fucking weeks, Eddie is back. Because of that, Richie scrambles out of his room, phone forgotten on his bed, and stumbles down his hallway with legs that are still somewhat weak from sleeping for so long. He probably looks ridiculous, he knows, bumping into the walls and letting out a quiet yelp when he almost tumbles down the stairs, but it’s all worth it when he rounds the corner for the living room and standing there is—

            O _h Jesus fucking Christ this can’t be allowed._

            Eddie has, over the course of his month-long stay in Hawaii, become, somehow, a million times more attractive than he already was – something Richie knows already, thanks to the polaroid Eddie sent him, but seeing the development in person is much different than in a picture. It shouldn’t be possible, since Richie was already head-over-heels for him before he left, but here he is, his naturally tan skin tanner than usual, a myriad of freckles drawn out from the sun and dotting his face like millions of little constellations that Richie wants to study for hours on end. His dirty-blond hair has been sun-kissed into something lighter, and god, does Richie want to run his fingers through those soft locks and—

            “Are you sick or something?” Eddie asks, snapping Richie out of his daze as he scans Richie up and down with a mix of joy and wariness written on his features, clearly cautious about Richie’s behavior. Richie grins, his heart thundering against his ribcage and shaking him from his core. Cocking an eyebrow at Richie’s silence, Eddie points a thumb over his shoulder and adds, “I can go get you some soup if you are. Not exactly what I wanted to do on my first day back, but if you need someone to nurse you back to health, then- _oof!”_

            Richie barrels into Eddie’s chest without a single word of warning, sending them both toppling back onto the sofa in the center of the room. Eddie lets out a breathless little laugh and happily returns the embrace as Richie tucks his head under his chin and nuzzles into the soft skin of his jaw. “Shit, I missed you,” he breathes, encircling his arms around Eddie’s shoulders and drawing his knees up to his chest until he’s basically curled up in Eddie’s lap, clinging onto him like a god damn toddler, but he can’t be bothered to care.

            “Don’t let it get to your head, but I missed you, too,” Eddie murmurs, pressing a grin to the crown of Richie’s head as he pulls Richie closer to him, shifting slightly in order to fit Richie on his lap more comfortably. “You would have seen me two hours ago if you weren’t late,” he points out, voice a bit louder, though he doesn’t pull away, perfectly content to have this conversation with Richie in his arms. “What’s that about, huh?”

            “Slept in,” Richie answers meekly, and it’s evident in the way his eyelids flutter tiredly that he’s telling the truth. Around a yawn, he adds, “Didn’t pass out until, like, four in the morning. I just woke up a few minutes before you got here.” He doesn’t mean to be so sleepy, but with being curled up like this, Eddie’s body heat radiating from his skin and keeping him warm, he can’t help it.

            For a moment, Eddie doesn’t respond, just hugging Richie tighter, as if trying to bring his closer, but then he retracts one of his arms from around Richie’s waist and brings it up to start running his fingers through Richie’s hair, drawing out a happy sigh from Richie as he presses his face further into Eddie’s neck. “Go back to sleep,” Eddie mumbles, and if Richie wasn’t already dozing off, he would have felt his heart skip a beat over the fondness in Eddie’s voice – the same fondness that often gets Richie’s hopes up, makes him think that maybe, somehow, Eddie feels the same way. “I’ll be here when you wake up.”

 

 

 

 

            When Richie wakes up, he’s not nearly as groggy as he had been before. It takes a moment to come to his senses, though, slowly blinking his eyes open and squinting through the sleepy bleariness of his vision. For a few minutes, he doesn’t really know where he is, doesn’t know anything other than the fact that he is extremely comfortable and doesn’t really want to move.

            But then:

            “You awake yet?”

            “Oh, _shit!”_ Richie yelps, pushing himself back and promptly rolling off the couch and onto the floor, his head whipping back and slamming into the carpet, and for a moment he thinks it’s funny, the fact that this is exactly what happened to him a few days ago in Bill’s garage, but this isn’t cement, so it doesn’t hurt nearly as much. That doesn’t stop him from letting out a low groan of pain, though.

            “Jesus Christ, Richie!” Eddie scrambles off the sofa and falls to his knees by Richie’s side, his eyes wide and confused as he holds his hands out in front of him, looking unsure of what to do with them, something that would probably be entertaining if Richie wasn’t so caught up in staring at Eddie with equal parts horror and happiness. “Fuck, are you okay?!”

            Swallowing roughly, Richie nods and slowly pushes himself into a sitting position, and he realizes that being more alert is not good for him right now. Before, when he was still sleepy and only semi-aware of his surroundings, he couldn’t be bothered to really examine Eddie fully, could only acknowledge the changes before giving into his need to hug Eddie close because he missed him so much. A need that is still there, yes – a need that has always been there – but above that need is the realization that Eddie, with his new Hawaii-kissed tan and stunning freckles and golden hair, is hovering less than a foot away from him with concern in his stormy grey eyes.

            And thus, Richie’s brain short circuits.

            “’m fine,” he whispers, and he’s trying very hard to keep his gaze from wandering away from Eddie’s face, but Jesus Christ, he’s wearing a god damn muscle tank that shows off his arms so well and his shorts are hugging his thighs perfectly and Richie has to close his eyes completely to stop himself from staring. After a moment of trying to collect himself, he opens them again and says, “I just… I forgot you were there.”

            Thankfully, this seems to soothe Eddie’s worries as he lets out a quiet snort, falling back until he’s sitting opposite of Richie. Still not a whole lot of space between them, but enough to help Richie’s chest loosen as he takes in a deep breath. “Took you long enough to wake up,” Eddie teases, sticking out a foot to lightly kick Richie in the shin. “You were out for, like, two hours. I think I fell asleep at one point, but then your mom came home and woke me up when she was taking pictures of us.”

            _Find Mom and beg her to send you those pictures,_ Richie thinks, offering Eddie a sheepish smile. “Sorry. I didn’t even realize how tired I still was until…” Until we were cuddling, is what he wants to say. A month ago, he would have said it without hesitation, but right now, he feels very small in comparison to Eddie’s glowing perfection, so all he does is meekly gesture towards Eddie and finish, “…y’know.”

            “I don’t mind,” Eddie shrugs, and that action makes Richie’s gaze fall again, focusing on the curve of Eddie’s arms, the barely-visible freckles on his shoulders. Mouth gone dry, Richie forces himself to look away as Eddie tells him, “I was pretty comfortable, to be honest, and as much as I love going to the Quarry with you guys, I just spent a month going swimming every single day. I kind of want to take a break from it for a few days.”

            “Makes sense,” Richie croaks out, but he can’t hear his voice over his own heartbeat as his mind conjures up an image of the polaroid that’d been sent to him. Oh, he knows Eddie’s been swimming every day, because that photo showed his freshly defined abs, and now that’s all Richie can think about, the taut stomach that he knows is being hidden only by a the think tank top Eddie has on. He thinks the room might be spinning. Is it healthy for your heart to beat this fast?

            Eddie frowns and goes to reach forward. “Are you sure you’re not sick? You seem kind of off.”

            “No!” Richie shouts, leaning away from Eddie’s hand as he tries to feel his forehead. If Eddie touches him again, he’s going to lose his cool (not that he has much of a cool in the first place) and he’s going to say something he can’t take back. “I’m fine,” he says, avoiding Eddie’s bewildered look and staring down at his hands. “I promise.”

            “No, you’re not,” Eddie counters, his frown deepening into a frustrated grimace. “You’re acting weird and I can tell. What’s going on?” Silently, Richie shakes his head – if he says this out loud, he’s going to fuck everything up, and the only person to blame will be himself. Features softening slightly, Eddie reaches forward again and places a hand on Richie’s knee, and in that instant Richie wishes to carpet would open up and swallow him whole, because just that contact is enough to make his resolve crumble. “What’s wrong?” Eddie asks, tone soft and gentle and kind.

            Richie lets out a guttural groan and turns his head to face the floor, looking at Eddie through his eyelashes when he exclaims, “You!”

            This is, quite clearly, not the best thing to say. Eddie snatches his hand away, looking like he got burned, and gapes at Richie with wide, hurt eyes. “What?”

            “No, not like—” Richie cuts off with a sigh, wanting to beat his own skull in with a baseball bat. Eddie just stares at him, cradling his hand against his chest, and waits. Realizing that there’s no way out of this one, Richie brings up his hands to cover his face and softly admits, “You’re just so fucking _hot_ , Eds. I can’t focus on anything because I just really, _really_ want to kiss you right now, but I know I can’t. _That’s_ what’s wrong, okay?”

            Eddie does nothing but blink and let his hands fall to rest limply in his lap, and when Richie peeks through his fingers to look at him, he finds that Eddie is still staring, though now his eyes are blown wide and his mouth is parted into a silent _oh_.

            “You can just pretend I never said that,” Richie says softly, absolutely mortified by his own actions. “I’ll be fine in a few days, probably. Don’t worry about—”

            “Shut up,” Eddie interrupts. Richie snaps his jaw shut and squeezes his eyes closed. He can hear shuffling, and he braces himself for a punch, or a kick, or something, but Eddie just gingerly wraps his fingers around Richie’s wrists and lightly tugs. “Can you look at me? Please?” A moment passes, and Richie thinks he might suffocate, but he obliges, letting Eddie lead his hands away from his face. It takes another few seconds before he can meet Eddie’s gaze, though, and even then, he just wants to look away. Seeing that he has Richie’s attention, Eddie inhales deeply and quietly asks, “You think… you think I’m hot?”

            Which- _what?_ Out of everything Richie said, that’s the part that Eddie chooses to question? “Yes,” he answers firmly, momentarily forgetting his inner turmoil for the sake of making this loud and clear. “You’re, like, perfect. In every single way. You drive me crazy, Eds.”

            The way Eddie grins is a little dizzying, small dimples that most people don’t notice (Richie noticed them years ago) becoming visible at the ends of his mouth. Richie isn’t sure what he wants to do more: kiss him, or take a picture. “Seriously?”

            “Okay, this is embarrassing to admit,” Richie starts, shuffling forward slightly and maintaining steady eye contact with Eddie – a task that seemed impossible moments ago, but when it comes to reassuring Eddie, it’s far too simple. “I have been head over heels for you since we were, like, fourteen-years-old. You can choose to ignore that, pretend I never said it, whatever you want, but just trust me when I say you’re the most attractive person I have ever and will ever meet. Do you understand that?”

            “I…” Eddie trails off, and his blush, something Richie has loved to witness for as long as he can remember, somehow looks even more stunning when it brushes over his tanned, freckled cheeks. He scans over Richie’s features silently, as if searching for something undetectable, and then meekly questions, “You really mean that?”

            “Probably more than I should,” Richie promises, offering a tight-lipped smile. To his relief, Eddie seems to believe him and doesn’t push it any further, but he’s still holding onto Richie’s wrists and Richie, quite frankly, has no fucking clue what to do now. Clearing his throat, he averts his gaze again, unable to keep Eddie’s gaze now that the reassuring moment has passed. “So, uh- yeah. Just, feel free to ignore all of that, and I’ll get over your hotness eventually.”

            Eddie shakes his head, and now his grin is more than just dizzying – it’s a blinding beam of joy that Richie melts under, and with this grin and bright eyes, Eddie just says, “You’re stupid if you think I want to ignore that.” Then, with another tug on Richie’s wrists, he pulls Richie forward and slots their mouths together, drawing out a surprised noise from the back of Richie’s throat that quickly melts into a content sigh as he returns the kiss languidly. Eddie’s lips feel so soft and so nice against his, and he kind of wants to ask a million questions about what this means, but he also kind of never wants to pull away.

            But then he sees a flash of light, and when he pulls away, Maggie Tozier is standing in the entryway to the living room with her phone help up looking like a deer caught in the headlights. Hovering behind her is Wentworth, grinning in amusement. Maggie parts her lips, looking ready to defend herself, but instead of speaking, she just spins around on her heel and books it out of the room, Went trailing behind her. Eddie can’t help but laugh, trying to smother his endless snickers into his palm, and even with his face burning red, Richie calls after his parents, saying, “You better send me that picture!”

            “Leave them alone and kiss me again,” Eddie requests, laughter still bubbling from the center of his chest. Richie huffs, but still he turns back around and surges forward to reconnect their lips.

**Author's Note:**

> hmu on tumblr and send more prompts @ sunsetozier!!


End file.
